


Some Kind Of Fallout

by westcoastsmoked



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Existential Fear, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Slow Death, Unresolved Trauma, bitter exes to friends, depersonalization elements, mention of radiation, nuclear fiction, ok scout and sniper don't die in this ill tell you that much, some strong descriptions of blood/gore/death, yeah povs are weird in this one but trust me it makes sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoastsmoked/pseuds/westcoastsmoked
Summary: A year after the events of the official comics, nuclear war breaks out, forcing the ten members of Fortress underground while they wait out the radiation on the surface. With nothing to do and nowhere to go, they are forced to work out their personal problems.It is the fight to survive, and the fight to find solace.
Relationships: Engineer/Spy (Team Fortress 2), Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2), Miss Pauling (Team Fortress 2)/Original Female Character(s), Scout's Mother/Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 55





	1. Sunrise on Babylon

**Author's Note:**

> after lots of deliberation and two other attempts in telling this story, i've come to turning it into a fic.
> 
> enjoy.

The sun began to cross over the horizon when he woke up, in the cold sweat he had fallen asleep in. Engineer rubbed his eyes, the same fear still dark in his heart. He knew why he and his fellow teammates were at this base, almost a year after the Robot War. He had a feeling that this morning, his fears would come true, and the anticipation of it was killing him.

Almost as if on cue, a short click signified the sound of the radio on his workbench turning on. He sat up, and began to listen intently, although he already knew the outcome. It did not matter whether he heard the words himself, the end result would be the same nonetheless.

The radio began to play the transmission, a phone conversation, directly between SAC and an unknown Air Force surveillance base. 

“SANDMAN, come in.” The first man on the call spoke. His voice was tinny and shaky. He sounded young, most likely in his twenties.

“This is SANDMAN, come in.” The reply from the other side of the telephone line. An older voice, calloused and calm. 

“This is BIRDSEYE1. Urgent report of 75 hostile scud from RED-S. Wave Alpha is in transit to DUGOUT.” No matter how much he had prepared to hear this, it still chilled Engineer to the bone.

“Launch retaliation protocol scud-150, and begin C-RAD.” 

“Wilco. Scud-150 has been executed. C-RAD is in motion. Do you copy?”

“Copy. Track Wave Alpha, ETA to DUGOUT?”

The first man’s voice began to break. “F-Four scud arriving at DUGOUT... about now. Over.” He sounded too young to be the one reporting this. Too young for a war like this. 

“BIRDSEYE1, cool it. May god have mercy upon our souls.” 

There was a short break in the conversation he was eavesdropping in, and the Engineer glanced at his door, which had been left a crack open. The soft yellow of the incandescent hallway lights seeped into his room where they could manage to, and he could hear the soft sounds of a few of his fellow mercenaries, maybe even Pauling, talking and having breakfast. For a moment, it felt like any other five-a.m morning in the past ten years. Dell Conagher was a man who valued peace of mind, and he wanted to hold onto it for as long as he could.

That moment ended as soon as it started, with the young man speaking again. “Roger. Wave Delta has started, birds in flight from RED-S, will hit southwest in 45 minutes. Do you read?” Engineer got up, and walked over to his worktable. He had rewired and reworked that radio to hear all military transmissions, and he had it set to listen in on conversations on a certain Omaha phone line. Conversations like this, ones that he now wished he had never heard. 

A loud crash resounded over the call, a resounding detonation. 

“SANDMAN, come in, do you read me?” The young man asked, looking for a response from the man who was on the other side of the line.

Nothing but the bitter silence after the first detonation in this war. 

Engineer shut off the radio. He had heard enough of the chatter from the two men. He turned his attention to the window on the far wall, walking closer to see the New Mexico landscape that surrounded the base. The sunrise that morning was beautiful, the star rising over the shape of far off dunes and ridges, the sky painted orange and glossed over with pinks and reds. He had been in and out of New Mexico since he was a child, and he had always loved the way the sky looked almost painted on a clear morning. He had woken up to this sight for a long time, from the days he began work as a shining young genius, to the later days of living on base with his fellow mercenaries. Never perfect, yet far from terrible. Engineer let the memories of his career wash over him, filling him with a hollow warmth. 

The older man on the transmission, who was now probably a pile of ash, had a point. May god have mercy on their souls.

Suddenly, the sirens began to wail. Loud, unmistakeable, and unavoidable. The warm feelings faded away, replaced with the sudden wrenching fear of reality.

He was going to miss the normalcy of the world. But the world was long overdue for a war like this, and the Engineer had seen it coming from a mile away. There was no way back from where the world had gone.

* * * * *

Scout had been sleeping when the war began. He never was a heavy sleeper, and if he was ‘sleeping’ through something those days, he probably was faking it. That being said, he was jolted awake by the screaming signal. He rolled over to look out of his window, in an attempt to figure out what the hell was making that ungodly noise. 

He listened for a moment until, vaguely, he remembered what the sirens meant. He flopped back down on his bed. “Fuck.” That was not how he wanted to start his day. 

Begrudgingly, he climbed the ladder down from his loft bed, and tried to navigate his messy room in the dark. Scout cursed himself for leaving this place such a mess. He had not had the motivation, or desire to keep it clean, and it was now a great inconvenience in trying to get his things together.

Scout grabbed his old camper bag from the corner of his room, mindlessly, the routine and use of his from years prior taking muscle memory in his half-lidded haze. A more inquisitive look at the bag reminded him of someone he wanted to forget. He shook the memory off, and began to shove clothes, sheets, and valuables in. The last one was easy, as he didn’t have many belongings that meant more than their face value to him. The exception was his dogtags, which at that moment were not around his neck. 

A wave of panic washed over Scout. His dogtags were the one thing he was not supposed to lose. They were a reminder of yet another person he wanted to erase from his mind, yet something he refused to let go of. There, on the dresser. The fear of losing the item dissolved, as if there was not a much bigger thing he should have been fearing.

With the dogtags in hand, Scout walked out of his room. 

The rest of the base was chaotic, and too loud for this early in the morning. This was the first time he had seen this many of his teammates in the same place, at the same time, for almost a year. Scout turned the corner, into the main hall, and saw Miss Pauling by the staircase, in the midst of everything. She looked tired, she always did. Scout approached her as she was giving directions to Heavy, proceeding to tap on her shoulder to get her focus.

She whipped her head around to face him. “Oh! Scout. What do you want?”

“Where the hell are we taking cover?” Scout asked. He rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust his eyes to the lights being on this early.

“The Lower Medbay, didn’t you ever listen to the presentation?” She replied, a sort of dazed confusion inflected in her tone. Suddenly, she was turned away from Scout again, and her focus was on Soldier, who had begun to walk down the main stairs, carrying a box of severed heads. “Shit, Soldier, don’t do that!” Like always, she was running off to the next thing to worry about. 

* * * * *

Back in the Engineer's room, he had been reluctant to leave just yet. 

Engineer brushed the dust off the table in his room, taking one last look around before this place would inevitably be in ruins. This workshop reminded him of his old one, almost three decades ago, back when he started working for Mann. Co and the Administrator. 

The room called to him of his past, just like how old friends do. Not forgotten, but not quite ever the same. 

Sawdust and the lingering scent of burnt metal smells the same in every workshop, but furniture holding onto the pungency of cigarette smoke is a stimulus reserved just for certain spaces. The desk held the familiar smell of tobacco, just like his old one did. Maybe it was better for the Engineer to forget that part of his life.

Engineer took a deep breath in, and grabbed his packed crate off the floor. It was time to let things go. He walked out of his room, just to see a familiar face pass by him.

There were some things in his life that were impossible to forget.

* * * * * 

About forty minutes later, and hundreds of feet below ground, Medic was in his lower ‘office,’ surrounded by unpacked boxes. He walked around the room, checking things off a list. 

Scalpels? Check. Specimen jars? Check. Safety masks? Check. Bandages? Check.

Medical fluid? Medigun?

“Scheisse.” He muttered under his breath, before walking down the hall. He knocked on the door to the Engineer's new ‘office.’ 

“Come in.”

Medic entered the room. Engineer had already gotten to work, and the room’s shelves were covered with little bits and pieces. He was sitting at the office's desk, tinkering with his radio. “You seem to have gotten cozy.”

Engineer shrugged. “Ain’t nothing else to do. How’s unpacking going for you?”

“I have a question. Scout is still making supply runs to the surface, yes?”

“Pretty sure he is.” Engineer kept his focus on his radio, but put his tools down.” Why?”

“Radio up and tell him to grab my medigun and fluid. Now.”

Engineer looked at the Medic, with shock on his face. “On it.” He muttered, trying to keep his fear from bubbling over into his words.


	2. Time Bomb Ticking For Five Years

Sniper dropped his suitcase on his bunk, partly dissatisfied with how his day was going. He had been woken up, twenty minutes later than the rest of the team, with Miss Pauling smacking him across the face. He hadn’t had the time to fully pack his bags, only able to take a single suitcase with him before he had to head down here. There were certain things Sniper wished he had the foresight to bring down with him, such as a few ‘souvenirs’ from a life long gone. He’d have to be satisfied with what he had, he figured. Besides, there was something—or someone—else more important to worry about.

Sniper opened his suitcase, unpacking the basics he had brought, as he mulled over the anxieties running through his head. They had sent Scout back up early on to get something from the surface. Engineer had closed the upper blast doors, located three-fourths up the steep staircase, when Scout left. Now the rest of the team was in the Lower Medbay, but Scout was still up on the surface, and if somebody didn’t open the upper blast doors for him soon he’d be toast. 

Scout would be fine. He was going to get back in time. He was fast, he’d be down any minute, Engineer would be leaving to open the doors soon, everything was going to be fine.

Scout was running ten minutes late, and on borrowed time. 

Sniper really had to stop worrying about Scout so much, it did him no good. He knew Scout would disapprove if he knew about it. But this time was different, and Sniper might have had a real reason to be worried.

Spy was sitting on the bunk next to him, so Sniper figured that he’d ask Spy how he feels about this. “They still got Scout bringing stuff down?” 

Spy had been staring off into space, eyes glossy, and his attention was only half on Sniper’s query. “It appears so.” He answered, before taking a long drag of his cigarette. 

Sniper sat down on his own bunk, having given up on unpacking. “Surprising. This ain’t something that would take him very long.”

Spy declined to answer, instead opting to dab away the sweat on his face with a handkerchief. Maybe Sniper’s building fear was not baseless.

* * * * *

Engineer was looking through some of his blueprints, when he was interrupted by his radio clicking on again. Through the radio, Scout’s voice echoed, almost overtaken by the sound of the sirens. 

“Look, Engie, I can’t find the Doc’s gun. How much time do I have left?” 

Engineer scrambled to get across the room and turn on his transmitter. “Look, you needed to get back here five minutes ago. Head down now, it won’t be too pretty for you if you stay up there.” Engineer cursed himself for getting distracted; he should have called up ten minutes ago.

“I dunno. Maybe I’ll respawn.” Scout responded, his snarky tone still audible through the radio. 

“What has gotten into him?” Engineer huffed under his breath, his impatience and stress starting to rise. “No Scout, you can’t just respawn, the blast is going to destroy that too. Get back down here. Now.” Engineer hoped Scout would get out of his head before it ended up killing him.

“I’ll see what I can do. If I don’t make it down there, tell Doc I’m sorry and tell Spy he’s an ass and tell Sni—” the sound of a plane engine roared over Scout’s words “—shit, they’re about to be on us.” Scout’s radio transmission was abruptly cut off. Engineer sped as fast as he could out of his office and into the common area.

“Fellas! Scout’s up there and we need to get the upper doors unlocked so his sorry ass doesn’t get blasted to pieces!”

Right across from the bunks, stood the lower blast doors. To open the blast doors, they required a key, and to close them it was the simple push of a button. Engineer took out his key, hands shaking as he tried to catch his breath. The rest of the team began to crowd around him.

Spy pushed his way to the front. “I will go. Hand me the key.”

“Ain’t no way in hell are your lungs gonna make it up those stairs.”

Medic pushed the both of them aside. “Let me go. I am the fastest out of all of us.”

“We can’t afford to lose you right now.”

Sniper walked around the group, over to Engineer. He grabbed the key out of the Engineer's hand. “Shut up already, I'm going. He's gonna die waiting for you to make a decision.” He remarked.

Sniper ran up the stairs as fast as his feet allowed him to, taking his breaths on the stairway landings. He had failed to remember that he was not a very fast person, and that the upper blast doors were almost three hundred feet up the stairway. 

He cursed himself for not thinking more rationally before he acted so quickly. Scout’s life hung on his shoulders, and Sniper couldn’t bear that kind of weight.

Halfway up the stairs, the first detonation hit. Sniper was slammed face-first into the stairs as the detonation’s shock and roar rang through the staircare. Shakily, Sniper rose up again, wiping the blood off his face. He was running again, using the handrail to guide him the rest of the way up.

When Sniper got to the doors, he stuck the key in the lock mechanism as fast as he could, and he tried with all of his might to turn it. It was stuck, for the most part, and the doors were only willing to open about a foot wide. 

He peered through the opening. Scout was limp, half in the doors’ gap. Scout had been pressed up against the doors from what Sniper could tell, as if he had been waiting for the doors to open when the blast hit. From what Sniper could see, the rest of the staircase had partially collapsed, crushing Scout.

Sniper pulled Scout through the doors, a few small pieces of rubble following him out. 

He pressed the button to close the doors, and he laid Scout down on the floor. The sight was much, much worse than he had expected.

His body was bruised, bloody, and covered in some sort of dust. Sniper checked his pulse. It was weak, but at least he was still alive.

Sniper picked up Scout into his arms, and started to head down the stairs as fast as he could. Begrudgingly, he let his emotions get the best of him, and let the tears wash away the blood on his own face. It was all he had left to do for the next few minutes. 

As soon as his feet had reached the bottom landing, the base was struck with the second detonation. This one was stronger than the last, only softened by how far underground they were.

Sniper looked up at the rest of the team, waiting for him in the lower blast doorway. Medic pushed to the front of the group, taking Scout from him. He walked out of the landing, into the Lower Medbay, and pressed the ‘close door’ button for the lower doors.

Sniper had started for the bathroom, when he was stopped by the Demoman. “Are you alright?”

Sniper shrugged. “I think I’m fine.”

In the shower, he stood idly, letting the hot water wash away the blood and sweat. After his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stood at the bathroom counter, staring at his fogged up reflection in the mirror. Sniper wiped some of the condensation away with his hand, in order to get a better look at himself. 

The fall had left large bruises, barely forming, across his torso. Sniper ran his fingers along them, tracing the old scars as well as the new. He stopped once he reached the scar on his neck. It laid on his carotid artery, long healed over. He let out a weak laugh. The little scar was simultaneously his least and most favorite. Five years after receiving it, he still hadn’t decided which one it was. 

Sniper made eye contact with himself in the mirror, scanning his face. His nose was broken, without a doubt, and he’d have two black eyes in a day or so. He’d been awake for barely an hour at this point—what a wonderful way this had been to start his day.

* * * * * 

Sniper peeked into the ICU, for what must have been the twentieth time in the past four days. Every time he had checked, Scout had still been unconscious. He was wrapped in bandages and where he wasn’t, blooming bruises hugged his skin. And yet, he could have been much worse

A quiet, shaky, and weak voice called out to him from one of the hospital beds. “Hey, you.”

Sniper blinked a few times before responding, shocked at the sound of Scout’s voice. “When’d you wake up?” he finally replied, more of a question than a greeting. He took a few cautious steps towards Scout’s bed.

Sniper watched as Scout pushed himself to sit up, wincing at the pain. “About an hour ago.” He looked at Sniper with a sharp stare of indifference. “Doc said you saved me, that if you hadn’t grabbed me before the second bomb, I would’ve been dead.”

Sniper shook his head. “No, no. I didn’t get there fast enough to save you from the first blast, I didn’t save you.”

Scout crossed his arms. “Nice broken nose. Let me guess, got it for me?”

Sniper shrugged. “Guess so.”

“God, I’m tired of this ‘save everyone’ idealism.” Scout began to remove the IV drip and other instruments attached to him. “Would have been easier on everyone to just leave me for dead.”

“Would you have rather died?”

Scout was now trying to remove the wires that measured his vitals. “Not sure yet. Why does it matter to you, anyway?” The monitors went flat. 

Sniper looked at Scout, with a sort of humorous confusion. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“That’s a lousy response if I’ve ever heard one.”

“To you, sure.”

All of a sudden, Medic came into the room through the side door, breathless. He looked at Scout, who was sitting up. “Oh, thank god you’re alive. Scout, warn me before you remove the cables next time. You almost gave me a stroke.”

Scout rolled his eyes. “Sure.” 

Medic started to change out Scout’s bandages, and Sniper took that as his cue to leave. He waved goodbye, before walking out of the ICU. Scout did not wave back.


	3. Even My Bad Habits Have a Half-Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to @holomeds for looking over this (and every chapter prior) before i post it

It was odd to have someone on the team stuck with a long-term injury. Medic’s equipment healed injuries in seconds, or if someone was too far gone, they were churned through the respawn. 

Now they were constrained to what they had left of modern medicine. Scout was fine, for the most part, but he wasn’t a big fan of being held back by his injuries. He refused to take food in through an IV, and he was in too much pain to walk, so at every meal someone brought him his food.

Sniper had been in a conversation with Demoman, discussing the past few days, when he was told by Medic to bring Scout his food. It was almost laughable, and certainly the rest of the team felt at least a little bad. Demo wished Sniper good luck before he left.

Sniper didn’t blame the team for laughing—Scout and Sniper were notorious for their mutual dislike. Only Sniper knew it was one-sided.

Sniper walked into the ICU as calm as he could be, plate and cup in hand. Scout’s eyes met his with a stare of resentment. “Why are you here?”

Sniper placed the cup and plate on Scout’s bedside table. The plates from earlier that day, food untouched, were still there. “I’m bringing you dinner.” 

“Did they make you?” Scout asked. A slight tinge of excitement in his voice gave away his careless demeanor.

“I volunteered.” Sniper swallowed.

Scout didn’t respond, nor did he touch his food. Instead he began to pull at his bandages, trying to get them off.

“Scout?”

Scout rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Why haven’t you been eating?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Does Medic know?”

“Here we go,” Scout groaned. “I’m not your responsibility.”

“You need to take care of yourself. What’s going on with you?” Sniper queried, worry visible on his face.

Scout ripped some of the bandages off his arm. He didn’t flinch at the pain. “This isn’t your business. It’s not like we’re friends”

“And here we are again. As always.” 

“I hate you.” Scout leaned forward, as much as his body would let him. “You know that?”

Sniper sighed. “I know. I did what I had to, though.”

“Why didn’t you even try?” Scout looked as if he was holding onto some ruse of anger, but it was apparent he was more hurt than anything else.

For a moment, the world around Sniper froze. Scout wasn’t talking about what happened a few days prior—he was talking about their breakup.

Sniper snapped back to reality. “We tried. It had to end, for good reasons.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I broke my own heart five years ago, did you think I wanted to? Did you think I made that decision lightly?” The words stung coming out of Sniper’s mouth; he hated raising his voice at Scout. Had it really been five years since their split? The time had passed quicker than Sniper had thought. 

“You just wanted a way out.”

“How do you still not understand?”

“How are you still a coward?”

“I was in love with you, dammit! I wasn’t going to let you die fighting an impossible battle. Hell, I didn’t want to be with you in the first place, because I loved you. We couldn’t keep fighting a system we were doomed to lose to.”

Tears began to glisten in Scout’s eyes. “I didn’t know that. You’re still a coward running away from a battle we could have won.”

“Cowards don’t go into the room of a man who’d voluntarily shoot them and deliver them dinner, mate.”

Scout wiped his face, returning to his original state. “Whatever. You’re real lucky I don’t got a gun on me, though.”

“I’ll go anyway.” Sniper started towards the ICU doors.

He had barely opened the door to leave, when he heard the faintest voice behind him, yet clear as day. “Wait, Mick, wait—”

Sniper froze. First names were something secret, something reserved for those you trusted the most. Something dropped when things were over, something that made Sniper falter. He’d heard that name, in that voice, a million times and a million years ago. From jeers, to laughs, to screams, to breathless nights. A million years ago, or maybe just five.

Or maybe things weren’t quite over yet.

Sniper turned around. He didn’t have anything to say, nothing to summarize how he felt. 

“I hate you,” Scout blurted, voice breaking. His eyes were wide open, scanning Sniper with a sort of desperation. 

“Yeah, I think I know that already.”

They stood there, staring at one another, for what felt like an eternity. 

“Come back in the morning.”

Sniper nodded. “You know I will.”

* * * * * 

Sniper plopped himself down next to Demo on the couch. It was old and dusty, much like the rest of the Lower Medbay. Not made to ever be used.

“How’d it go?” Demo asked, tone flat.

“I dunno.” He looked at Demo a little closer than he initially had. He was reading a file folder of some sort. “What’s that you’re reading there?”

“Some of Hardhat’s findings he wanted me to take a look at. Something about the explosions.” Demo closed the file. “Now tell me, what happened in there?”

Sniper gave Demo a brief rundown of his interaction with Scout, emitting some of the more personal details but keeping in the necessary ones.

“So what happens now?”

Sniper looked down at the floor, guiltily. “He asked me to come back in the morning.”

“And?”

“I’m going.”

“It’s been a long time,” he laughed.

“Zip it, mate. My life is not one of your T.V shows.”

“Why do you think this time is going to be different?”

“It might be no different than every other time. But he’s not acting like himself, that’s for sure, and I’d hate to let him go through whatever this is alone.”

“What about your own problems?”

Demo had a point. Sniper did have his own slew of issues he needed to sort through, but every time he followed their trails they always led back to the same thing. “Maybe this’ll help me figure it out.”

* * * * *

It was early in the morning when Sniper went back to the ICU. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and by five or six a.m he had given up on it. He figured if Scout wasn’t awake yet, he’d just leave and come back later. 

Scout was not even in the ICU. No, he was gone. The bed was made, his stuff still strewn around the room. Sniper hadn’t noticed it the night before, but next to the bed was a bag. Sniper’s old bag. He gave it to him years ago; shouldn’t Scout have gotten rid of it by now? Odd.

On the ICU bed, there was a little note, neatly folded. 

“Sniper, 

Sorry for last night. I was being a dick. Thanks for saving me by the way. Sorry I couldn’t tell you this in person.

\- Scout.”

Sniper folded up the note and slipped it into his pocket, wondering Scout was. He figured it was best not to look for him; if Scout wanted to see Sniper, he’d be there to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was relatively short, but i have a feeling the next chapter will be a little longer.


	4. Fireball, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thank you to @holomeds for taking a look at this for me!

Late at night, Engineer grabbed four of the chairs from the dining area, placing them haphazardly around his office. He sat down at his desk again while he waited, going over all of his calculations once again. He’d hoped that his findings were wrong, that this meeting was unnecessary. 

But the Engineer had checked these at least ten times by now, again and again, searching for an error. Unfortunately, he was correct.

A few minutes later, Pauling, Demo, Medic, and Heavy entered the office together, with Heavy closing the door ever-so-slowly behind him so as to not wake the rest of the team. 

After the group had taken their seats, the Engineer started his meeting. 

“Good evening folks. Let’s get started, shall we?” The four nodded. “The evening after the bombs dropped, I was doing some inspection of the base. When I went into the water closet, my Geiger counter started to pick up something odd, especially when I got close to the air filtration system. I’ve spent the last few weeks investigating this. I checked the schematics and I took a look inside, and the filter appears to be in perfect condition. I asked Miss Pauling over here to bring the rest of the bunker’s blueprints, so we can get to the bottom of this.”

Miss Pauling handed out papers from a stack of blueprints to the rest of the group. “I ask that you guys keep whatever we discuss tonight under wraps for a while. There are some things that the rest of the team does not need to know about, at least for now.”

“This place doesn’t look made well. You weren’t kidding about it not being made for use.” Demoman laughed, holding up his page.

“I wasn’t kidding about it not being planned by me, either.” Pauling remarked. “Helen hired some crappy company through Mann for this. I would have done a better job planning it, that’s for sure.”

Heavy took the paper from Demoman, looking at the design carefully. “Here. This is the problem.” He handed it over to the Engineer. “You have another filter on the surface. Must be broken.”

Engineer laid it on the desk, and the rest of the group crowded around him. “The upper internal filter looks flimsy. I’d think that’s much too thin to be effective in a blast. Actually, Demo, did you get time to take a look at the file of readings I gave you? Would the bombs have popped it?”

“I did get to read over it, though I was interrupted by Sniper telling me about his new drama with Scout.” Demoman took a closer look at the page. 

“How are the two of them, by the way?” Engineer queried. 

Demoman looked up from the paper. “One grand mess. As per usual.” He traced his fingers over the blueprint’s lines, deep in thought.“From what I’ve gathered, I think it’s safe to say that part of the filter was probably destroyed. Hell, with how bad the upper staircase apparently came down, I wouldn’t say it’s unlikely that the entire filter is destroyed.”

Pauling compared the page with the lower filter’s schematics. “The upper filter is our main one. This bottom one is minor.”

“Which means we have radiation seeping into the bunker through our only air supply?” Medic chimed in. “Like a deathtrap?”

Demoman nodded. “Either we die down here, or we die on the surface.”

Pauling returned to her seat, hanging her glasses on her shirt. “God, I hate this place. RED Medical Base. A shitty cover for a shitty place to hide. Lower Medbay. Just a shitty codeword for a shitty bunker. Helen’s kicking us from the grave. She had this notion five or six years ago, after the Gravel War would end, there would be a nuclear war, and that would give her the chance to steal the rest of the world’s Australium. She wanted her mercenaries’ help. She died. A year ago. So much for that Australium.” She took a deep breath in. “ And I had some great notion, that when things heated up, I could take you guys here. I did. I disguised it as Medic needing to remove your uber valves, thinking we’d pack up and go back home in a month or two. Then things got really bad, and I told you the truth and a day later we ended up down here. But I refuse to let you guys die this way.”

The room fell silent.

She tied her hair back, which previously had been hanging down over her shoulders. “Let’s come up with a plan for this. We’re Team Fortress, are we not? Notorious for being hard to kill.”

Demoman pulled his chair over to sit next to her, passing her the file folder he had been examining the night before. “Let’s get to work.”

The rest of that night was spent designing the only way to save their lives.

* * * * * 

The next evening, the Engineer only had Spy as his office guest. 

“How are you feeling about Anne?”

“I’d rather not right now.” Spy sighed.

“What about Scout?”

He lit a cigarette. “Not your business.”

Engineer grabbed the cigarette from Spy’s hands. “You can’t smoke down here, by the way.” He put it out on his desk, leaving a small burn on the unfinished wood. “Messes with the filter.”

Spy handed his pack of cigarettes to the Engineer. “Speaking of that filter, why did you call me here about it? I’m sure you didn’t just call me here to ‘hang out.’ We don’t do that kind of thing.”

“Pauling has a mission for us. Figured I’d tell you what’s going on now before the whole team finds out in the morning.”

Meanwhile, Sniper had just arrived in the ICU, with a small bottle of whiskey as a peace offering. He was surprised to see Scout actually where he was supposed to be. 

“What’re you doing here?”

“You seemed like you were bored out of your mind. I’ll only stay if you want me to.”

Scout laughed. Sniper wasn’t wrong. Three weeks or so had gone by in the bunker, and there was almost nothing to do. He waved Sniper over to sit across from him on the bed, and he took the bottle from him, turning it over in his hands. “Beautiful.”

The two of them idly passed the bottle back and forth, making light conversation. Sniper decided not to ask about what happened a week prior, the last time Sniper was in the ICU. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Not terrible, honestly. Medic’s letting me out of here in a few nights. Truth be told, I should have been out a week ago, but he wants to keep an extra watchful eye. Wonder why. I’m probably not supposed to be drinking, but honestly I could give less of a shit.”

Scout was always such a chatterbox if you got him going. Sniper wanted to hear more. “We haven’t really gotten a chance to catch up in a long time. What did you do after the Robot War was over?”

“Kind of just messed about for a while, had money to waste. I actually went back home last month before we were called here.”

“How was it?”

Scout took a large swig from the bottle, cringing at the taste. “It was fine,” he responded flatly. “Where’d you find this, by the way?”

Sniper tried to take the bottle from Scout, but Scout held on to it. “Demo gave it to me. He’s trying to get sober, so I’m doing my best to help. I know he jokes about this kind of stuff to cope, but I still keep an eye on him to make sure he’s alright.”

“You’re a good friend to him.” Scout rolled his eyes. “Jeez, never thought I’d say something like that to you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Sniper pulled at the bottle again, to no success. “Hand it over, my turn.”

Scout smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“If you’re sick tomorrow, don’t blame me.”

“Shuttup.” Scout tried to stifle his laughter, a smile tugging at his lips. It was the happiest Sniper had seen him a long time.

Sniper couldn’t help but smile at Scout. There was the fire he knew, and once loved. “Where were we? Family, right?”

“Yeah. I remember visiting your parents years ago, they seemed like nice people. Didn’t they pass away last year?”

Sniper stared blankly at Scout. “They did.” It seemed that Scout was more perceptive of Sniper’s intentions than he originally thought. “I miss them, but I’m happy the bombs aren’t what killed them. You’re lucky though, you still have family. Your dad’s still hanging around.”

Scout broke eye contact with Sniper, casting his gaze down to the side. His eyes glossed over. “Nah. Dad died when I was a kid.” He reached under his shirt collar, pulling out his dogtags. He studied them carefully, lightly running his thumb over the inscribed letters and numbers. “I thought I told you about that, years ago.” He whispered, quietly, as if he was almost confused with his own memory. “When I leave this bunker, I won’t have any family left. Ma’ and what was left of my brothers probably died up there.” He took a large chug of the whiskey, this time not reacting to the sting. He handed the bottle back to Sniper.

Something wasn’t adding up, between Scout’s story and what happened in the Robot War. Sniper opened his mouth to ask a question, but stopped when Scout looked him in the eye, expression empty.

An hour or two later, Sniper left the ICU, switching the lights off as he walked through the doors. He was mostly satisfied with his conversation with Scout, although it was not of much substance. It was somewhat friendly, and it was enough for now.

He flipped the now-empty whiskey bottle in his hand as he walked down the hall, stopping in his tracks when he neared the Engineer's office door, left a crack open. Sniper heard the sound of hushed voices in the room, and the sound of Spy’s brought Sniper back to what Scout said earlier. It made his blood boil.

He gripped the whiskey bottle by the neck, and opened the door. 

Engineer and Spy were hovering over a pile of papers and files on the desk. Sniper knocked on the doorframe firmly. “G’morning.”

Engineer perked up. “Oh! Howdy.” He greeted, surprised at the sudden visitor. “Why are you up this late?”

Spy crossed his arms. “Bothering my son, I assume.”

Sniper began to walk over to Spy. “That’s funny, mate, real funny, ‘cause yeah, I was talking to him, and it turns out, I hate you.” He shoved Spy against the wall with his free hand. “You are the most disgusting, wretched excuse of a man I’ve ever met. I can’t believe, for even a minute, we were ever friends.” Spy’s face was unreactive as he gripped at Sniper’s arm, trying to escape.

Engineer rushed over to the two of them, fruitlessly trying to pull Sniper away. “Hey now, no need for this.”

Spy reached into his suit, pulling out his knife. He kept it at his side. “Get off of me. Now.” His voice was stable, as angry as he seemed.

“No. You lied to him, didn’t you? He was on his deathbed, and you fucking lied to him.” Sniper’s words began to shake, as if he was holding back tears. He grabbed Spy’s shirt collar to pull him forward, before slamming him against the wall again. “All he ever wanted was a father, you coward!”

Sniper pushed up Spy’s chin with the bottom of the bottle. Spy looked down at the bottle, then up at Sniper. He looked fearful, knowing what was going to happen next. “Go to hell, Spy.”

Spy drove his knife into Sniper’s thigh, cutting through fabric, skin, and muscle.

Sniper smashed the whiskey bottle over Spy’s head as hard as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is where we end the first act, or at least where the first act of the film would have ended. the fireball, moments before the shockwave


	5. Shockwaves of Past Lives, Breaking the Seismograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, mentions of slow death and radiation sickness
> 
> big s/o to @holomeds for reading this over for me!

Sniper dropped Spy, letting him fall to the floor. Sniper limped to the Engineer's desk, leaning on it to keep himself standing. The knife in his leg was causing him dizzying pain, and he struggled to stay awake. Engineer had disappeared, presumably to get the Medic.

Spy’s balaclava had protected him from any serious injury, although some glass shards had become lodged in the fabric of the mask. When Spy regained consciousness a minute later, he pulled it off, tossing it on the floor.

Spy sat up, slowly, and looked up at Sniper, with no anger in his stare. He looked more disappointed than anything else. Sniper looked his face over, studying his features, before choosing to speak. 

Spy’s hair was a bit curlier than he had imagined, and his nose was a bit more prominent, but the eyes, chin, cheekbones, were all telling. This was the first time he had ever seen Spy take off his mask. Demo had once told him that the day Sniper had ‘saved’ Scout’s life, Spy had taken off his mask, panicked and afraid. Apparently Spy had helped Medic carry away Scout, but Sniper had been too shaken by having to carry Scout’s half dead body to notice.

Finally, Sniper spoke. “He looks like you.”

“I know.” Spy tried to pull himself to his feet, but faltered, and settled for sitting on the floor.

“He deserved better. How do you go twenty eight years not telling him the truth? You’re still married to his mother, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not your place to know why.” The older man murmured, more focused on picking the glass off his suit jacket than on the conversation at hand.

Most of the anger in Sniper’s heart had subsided by then, partially due to the pain radiating from his thigh. The alcohol in his body was not much help to ease his state. Truthfully, he regretted attacking Spy. It was going to cause more harm than good. Even worse, Spy was right on some level. Spy’s family drama was none of Sniper’s business. But he’d be damned if he didn’t get to the bottom of this, at least for Scout’s sake. 

“What the hell happened in Boston?” Sniper asked, his voice starting to become weak.

The pain was becoming too much to bear, and the world around Sniper was getting blurry. “He will tell you when he’s ready,” was what Sniper heard, faintly, as he fell to the ground.

Sniper opened his eyes to bright lights and white walls. The world was slowly coming into focus, the pain in his leg now only a dull ache.

From beside him, an uncanny voice pulled him into consciousness. “Look who’s awake.”

Sniper sat up, patting around for his glasses, as the world slowly came into a limited focus. Scout placed them on his face for him, a familiar gesture from a long time ago. There was no ‘good morning’ exchange like back then, as before Sniper could speak, Scout had already walked away.

Sniper looked around the room, trying to discern where he was; the pounding in his head made thinking a struggle. He was in the ICU. Wonderful. Sniper wondered how much of a mess he had made, and how much of his interaction with Spy had been passed around in rumors.

He had never really taken a close look at the ICU, as his focus was usually on something—or someone else when he was in the room. It was a fairly small space, wide enough to fit three twin beds spaced out. There were two sets of doors; one in the front of the room, where he had always entered from, and a set of side doors, which Medic often used. He could only assume that those doors led to the doctor’s office, for ease of access. The ICU was functional for its purpose, but lackluster in every other way. It was more of a place with hospital beds rather than a medical facility. The dull atmosphere of the room made Sniper feel sort of bad for Scout. No wonder he had hated waking up here every morning.

Sniper waved off his train of thought, and turned his attention to his injury. He pulled the thin sheet off to see his leg. The knife was now gone, and the wound was pulled together with tiny and neat stitches. Much more careful than Medic’s usual work, Sniper knew firsthand from the scars on his chest. Medic stood across the room, in conversation with Scout and from what Sniper could tell, the man was exhausted. The clock on the wall showed that it was nine in the morning, and Sniper recalled that he had left the ICU after his conversation with Scout at four. Medic must have spent the night stitching him up. More guilt for Sniper to mull over later.

Just then, Demo entered the room, making a beeline for the bed Sniper was in. Shock was visible on his face, but he seemed intrigued rather than angry. “What did you do?”

Sniper gave him a weak grin. “I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you.”

Scout strolled back over to his original spot, chiming in. “Hey now, if you’re telling him, you’re telling me.”

Sniper began trying to formulate an excuse, but he was interrupted by Pauling stepping in between the two men at his bedside. “Whatever it is, save it for later. We’re having a meeting.”

Sniper’s heart began to race. He hoped that whatever it is, it wouldn’t be about the previous night. 

Soon, the rest of the team was crowded in the room. In the middle, Miss Pauling stood, hands empty. She usually had a clipboard or a file folder with her during meetings, but today’s meeting was much different from ones they had during the war.

“We have, er, sort of an issue. I don’t know how to sugarcoat what I’m about to tell you,” she said, tension audible in her words.

Sniper quickly realized that this meeting was not about him.

“The horrors of nuclear war have been sort of hidden to you, unless you’re one of the few here who got to see it up close. For the past few weeks, you have been living in a cushy bunker, with stockpiled food and beers, and you were saved from what the rest of the world was suffering. Today, your world becomes a bit more realistic, or maybe your world always has been.” 

The whole room, which had previously been filled with whispers, went silent.

She continued, her projection gradually becoming stronger. “There are two air filters in our circulation system. On the surface, is our main source of oxygen. It pulls in air, pushing it through a series of internal filters to clean it. The air is sent down a duct, into a secondary filter in the bunker. This secondary filter barely cleans the air, and just sends it through the bunker’s air ducts and vents. Long story short, our upper air filter is dead. It’s been dead, from the moment the blasts hit us. The point is that our air is and has been barely filtered, which means our environment is only somewhat less irradiated than what it’s like on the surface. If we don’t fix it, we’re going to die.”

Miss Pauling paused her speech, waiting for some kind of response from the team. Only the quiet hum of the incandescent lights could be heard.

“I’m too arrogant to let that happen, let me make this clear.” She smirked at the team. “Me, and a few of your fellow teammates, have drawn up a plan to save us, or at least to keep us from dying so soon. “Engineer and Spy”—she turned to look at the Engineer—”by the way, is Spy okay?”

“He’s fine. Just… sulking in my office, last time I checked,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright then. The two of them will be heading up to the surface in a few days, as soon as Engie finishes constructing a new filter. I can’t guarantee that this will work, but for now all we can do is to have faith.”

“So all we can do is wait? And hope it goes well? So if this is all for nothing, we just get sick and die?” Scout interjected, his frustration becoming apparent.

“This is all we have left.”

“I’ve—we’ve all lost so much already.” Scout smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “God, fuck this.” He stormed out of the room, as the rest of the team watched. Sniper tried to get up to follow him, but was stopped by Demoman. 

“Let him go,” Demo whispered, “you’re in no shape to deal with him.”

The room’s attention turned back to Pauling. She sighed. “Unfortunately, Scout’s got a point.” 

* * * * * 

Scout locked the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it as he sunk to the floor. A million thoughts raced through his head, and he could only wish for them to stop.

Scout stretched his hands out in front of him. In observation, they were scarred and bandaged, the way they had been for years. Some scars were new, some were old. The way his skin wrapped around the bones on his fingers and palm was the same as it always had been. Nothing had changed.

Scout scanned his legs and arms, lightly running his hands over them. He traced the curve of his shoulders, up to his neck, onto his chin, and he smoothed his palms over his face. 

His body felt normal, inside and out. There was no way to feel the radiation, except for when it was already too late. He was sick, or at least he was going to be one day, but he couldn’t feel it. Radiation was handmade to bring silent, slow deaths. It was unavoidable in this kind of war, but not for the well-prepared. Even in preparedness, he and his fellow teammates were walking a fine line between life and death. 

Scout sat there, trying to put a finger on why he even was so upset. Isn’t this what he wanted? An expiration date? Why did he make a scene, run out the way he did, if this was exactly the kind of end he was looking for? 

Why did it matter if he died? With everything that he had been through in the past year, he felt like it would just be easier to die. He had certainly wished for it in those last moments before that initial nuclear blast knocked him out, weeks ago. Scout was ‘lucky to have survived,’ as Medic had said, it was a ‘miracle’ that the collapse of the stairwell hadn’t shattered his bones and body. But after everything was done, when his sutures had been removed and his lungs were able to steadily inhale and exhale, he still wished that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

Maybe Scout was so torn up over this because he didn’t want his teammates to die. They deserved long, happy lives with the people they loved. Scout didn’t find himself worthy of a happily-ever-after. All that had brought him those warm feelings was gone now, and he was only left with his mistakes to grieve.

Scout took off the dog tags around his neck. For a second, he was tempted to throw them in the trash, to rid himself of the chains that bound him, but he decided against it.

He looked at them closely, rereading the engraved name. Jacques Delacroix. 

Scout whispered the last name Delacroix to himself, quietly, letting the name roll off his tongue in a familiar way. It truly was a pretty last name, it was a shame he hadn’t heard a soul say it in seven or so years. 

Nobody used real names at Fortress. You saved your first name for the most trusted of your fellow mercenaries, or for your gravestone. In Scout’s case, only Sniper knew his first name.

Delacroix. Jeremy Jacques Delacroix. He wished he had told Sniper his last name all those years ago. It would have sounded nice in his voice. The name was bittersweet, a reminder of the times where he was much more of a badass than he had grown up to be, and a reminder of a terrible truth in his genes. It was the name that set him apart from his brothers. Every other one had taken on his mother’s maiden name, Hughes, after their fathers had left or died. Scout was the only one to keep his father’s last name. His mother had told him that she never changed his name because his father was the only man she truly loved, even after he was gone. Scout was always his mother’s favorite, too, but after what happened in Boston he was starting to think she never really cared for him more than what he was useful for. 

Sniper’s full name was Michael Mundy, or Mick for short. Scout had used that name not too long ago, desperate and thoughtlessly, to call Sniper back into the ICU after an argument. Looking back on it, Scout hated it. The way Sniper had looked at him, the memories that had flooded back—it was all too overwhelming.

Sniper had trusted him enough to reveal his name, and Sniper was the kind of man who never let his feelings compromise his work. Scout recalled how the man had let his soft spot grow, and how quickly it had destroyed them.

If everything had gone according to Scout’s plan, they could have stayed together. They would still be headfirst in love, the way they had always been. Or so Scout pretended to believe. In reality, it was never meant to be, no matter how he spun it.

Scout’s chest ached at the thought, whether it be the image of him and Sniper together, or how badly their relationship ended. He should have realized his mistake the first time; seventeen, letting love simmer too much with a guy from school he had no business getting involved in the family business. Maybe if he hadn’t been so stubborn, he could have saved his relationship with Sniper, years later and far away from his hometown, at twenty-three. Now Scout was twenty-eight, and maybe finally he had learned his lesson. 

Scout looked up at the ceiling, letting his head fall back to rest against the door. The years had gotten so short. Sniper was almost thirty-three now, his birthday in the next month. Scout could still remember him the way he was five years prior, how wonderful he was. Those memories felt so far away in a cold bathroom, hundreds of feet below ground.

The past was too much for Scout to handle, and pulled himself back to his feet, deciding to put a pin in that train of thought for the moment. He could handle this later, or hopefully never. 

Maybe the radiation would get rid of the things he could not change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we have our first scout-centric scene ...


	6. Looking Back At Los Alamos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hand this chapter to you with part of my soul in it.
> 
> big s/o once again to the one and only @holomeds for looking over this for me. as well as a shoutout to all of my old beta readers, whether we're on good terms or not. 
> 
> tw: some descriptions of violence

Oddly enough, nothing else was said about Sniper and Spy’s ‘fight.’ It turned out to be less of a big deal than Sniper had originally thought. Everyone already knew Spy was Scout’s father, except for Scout, and apparently to the others it seemed that a fight would break out over it eventually. Besides, Miss Pauling had better things to worry about than petty quarrels between the men, as long as nobody was dead.

Sniper pondered a couple things as he laid in his bunk a night or two later, silently waiting for sleep to come. He wondered why nobody had ever told Scout the truth, if obviously Spy was too cowardly to. It was likely that nobody wanted to get involved, that the drama just wasn’t worth it, but not even Scout’s mother had ever told him the truth. Jeremy— _ Scout _ , he meant—was far too old to have something like that hidden from him. 

Yet if Sniper put himself in the position to, he wouldn’t be able to tell Scout. Not by any means. Seemed like everyone was a coward in that kind of situation. 

That led him to the next thing. What was up with Scout? Did it have to do with the possible loss of everyone he loved on the surface? Was it almost getting blown to pieces? Could it be something else, entirely, that Sniper had no clue about?

More importantly, what happened in Boston? That would answer everything, wouldn’t it?

He remembered what Spy had said to him, that Scout would tell him when he was ready. When would that day even come? 

Was it Sniper’s business to even know? He’d have to ponder that later, as at that moment an answer that pleased him was not coming to mind.

Sniper sat up, curious to see where Scout was. Two bunks left of his own, was Scout and Pauling’s bunk next to the wall. Scout had just started sleeping on the top bed, after he was ‘discharged’ from the ICU. Yet the top bed was empty, meaning Scout was probably awake somewhere else in the bunker.

Sniper’s curiosity began to form a slight haze over his common sense. Would it be so terrible to just ask Scout?

Maybe not.

Sniper climbed out of bed, and began to look around the bunker. In the common area, he found Scout. He was laid on the couch, head hanging loosely off one of the armrests. His expression was empty, the way it had been for the past few weeks. It was starting to drive Sniper insane to see him like that, and the feeling of seeing it fueled his desire to get to the bottom of this.

Sniper walked over to the couch, pushing Scout’s legs to the side to make room for himself. “Good evening.”

Scout craned his neck to look at him, rolled his eyes, and let his head fall back to its previous position. “I was comfortable here.” He curled his legs in. “Get your own seat.”

Sniper didn’t move. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm.” Scout sat up to sit cross-legged on the couch, facing Sniper. “Ask, I guess.”

“I—” Sniper stopped himself before he could continue. He bit his lip, trying to build up the courage to ask in a straightforward way, but it never came to him. “What’s been bothering you so much?” he asked instead, a subtle dance around what he actually wanted to know. 

Scout’s face dropped. “No. I’m not doing this. We’re not friends. I don’t know what part of you forgot that, but I’m gonna need you to start remembering that,” he asserted, no sharpness left out of his words. 

Sniper was somewhat disappointed in Scout’s response, but not shocked. “We’re here every time. These past few weeks were pretty good, at least I had thought. Why do we keep doing this?” They were stuck in situations like this, endlessly. Falling in and out of allyship with one another. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, I won’t pry, but try to be nice to me.”

Scout rose from the couch, as if he were about to leave. “I never understand why you want to come back, why you want to be here for me. Especially why now. You remember what happened last time.” In the dim night lighting of the bunker, Sniper could see a broken scowl forming on Scout’s face. Once again, he just looked hurt, thinly veiled behind a ruse of anger.

“Oh, I do. I remember all of it.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t change a thing.” The past started to flow into Sniper’s inner eye, from the very back of his mind. The scenes were clear as if it had all happened yesterday. The warmth of it all felt like relief, but only momentarily before he started to retell their story.

It was June, 1966, on one of the many battlefields in New Mexico. He couldn’t recall which one.

Sniper had the BLU recruit down his sights. The man blocked the sun’s harsh light with his hand to look at the Sniper, just after killing the RED Spy. He didn’t seem to notice the bright red dot on his own forehead. ‘New to this too, eh?’

_ I saw you in my scope, bright eyed and curious, on our first day. My first headshot as the Sniper was on you, and I didn’t think twice about it. _

Sniper took the shot.

A few weeks later, Hightower balcony. Sniper was leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette. His eyes were focused on the sun setting, long after the day’s work had ended, but his ears were focused on Scout’s chatter. Scout himself was just a few feet away by the balcony’s edge.

_ The first few months of the war, you always hung around with me after battle. You’d come to my smoking spot and talk my ear off for an hour. I let you stay because I felt bad that you were alone, and a small part of me enjoyed the company of someone my own age.  _

Scout stopped talking and walked over to Sniper, who handed him a cigarette. 

_ I wasn’t any good at conversation, so I’d always give you a cig’ when you ran out of things to say.  _

Scout lit the cigarette, and took a short first puff, coughing on his exhale. Sniper frowned at him, playfully. Scout softly jabbed him in the shoulder, followed by a short ‘shuttup.’

_ I’d always tell you that tobacco’s no good for a guy like you.You always insisted that you had always been a smoker, but you never explained why.  _

Late evening, July 1966. Sniper and Scout were out by the camper, seated on lawn chairs. In front of them a small campfire burned, the flame slowly going out as it was forgotten by the two men who had been tending to it. They laughed and drank, exchanging stories and jokes as the sun set into the night.

_ I grew closer to you than I could admit to myself. It was hard to be this far from home, and work was painful, but you made the days bearable. Wonderful, even.  _

August 1966. Another battle, somewhere else in the Badlands. Sniper’s nest, forty minutes until the end of the workday.

_ Melee fights were always the fun of the workday. _

Sniper and Scout were head-to-head in a melee battle, laughing and smiling. The clash of Sniper’s kukri against Scout’s baseball bat was methodical, almost routine in the way they ‘fought.’ 

Sniper ducked as Scout swung at his head. ‘So, who’s winning this time?’ 

‘I think it’s my turn.’ Scout asked, voice giddy. Sniper nodded, dropping his blade. 

_ It was like a friendly game to us, dangerously walking the line between fraternization and rivalry. _

Scout grabbed Sniper by the shoulders, and pushed him against the wall. He quickly pulled his arm back to land a clean right hook to Sniper’s nose. 

Sniper winced at the pain. ‘What the hell was that for?’

‘Realism.’ Scout smiled, smugly, before pulling Sniper down by his shirt collar to kiss him. The last thing Sniper could recall was how quickly it ended, before Scout put one of his pistol’s bullets through his head. 

_ Our first kiss was preceded by a broken nose, and followed by respawn. You quickly became my lapse in judgement, a lie to my own personal code. _

Nighttime, just approaching dawn. Late 1966, maybe early 1967. Sniper was at Scout’s bedroom window, tapping lightly on the glass. Scout ran over to the window, unlocking and opening it.

_ I can recall how we used to sneak around to see each other. How careful we were at the start.  _

Scout grabbed Sniper’s hand, helping him climb through the window. Sniper struggled, his long legs getting in the way, which made Scout laugh. His laughter washed away Sniper’s embarrassment in a way Sniper could not describe with his words. 

July 1967, seated in the passenger seat of Scout’s red sports car. Speeding down that desert road that led to the local city. The wind pushed Scout’s hair back out of his face, the sun casting a golden shine on his confident smile. Sniper tried not to stare, but he stole a glance every once in a while when he was sure the other man wouldn’t notice.

_ We kept running off base, looking for something to fill empty hours in the middle of nowhere. _

That night, in one of the local clubs. Dancing together, without a care in the world, and without regard for anyone that stared.

_ We’d go out dancing, and we’d have guns holstered at our hip, ‘cause if anyone thought to say anything to us, we’d leave no witnesses.  _

Waking up the next morning, seeing Scout stood at the van kitchenette. Sniper guessed he was trying to make scrambled eggs, from the look of it. 

_ You used to always cook me breakfast when you spent the night. You are terrible at cooking. Yet it was so endearing to wake up to too-strong coffee and burnt bacon on the weekends. _

On the van table, was an opened letter from the Administrator. Sniper already knew what it said.

_ Dating someone from the other side was against the rules. It would end up in misery. Yet we ignored the warning signs and red flags, letting our better sense go to waste. _

Christmas Eve, 1967. Sniper leaned against the van counter, Scout across from him by the door. Scout stood still in his shock, tears streaming down his face. Sniper couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, and kept his eyes on the floor until Scout ran out of the camper.

_ Until it was too late. I watched you walk away, after I made the decision that would keep us both from ending up in coffins. Although I can recall that I gave more of a shit about your life than I ever cared for my own. I know that if I had to go back and do it all again, I would have done the same thing. No matter how much it hurt me.  _

Sniper heard Spy uncloak behind him, quickly grabbing his kukri from the table. He whipped his head around, only to be tackled by Spy. Spy managed to get him into a headlock, with Sniper pulling at his arm desperately to get out.

He sliced Sniper’s left carotid artery, and let his body drop to the floor. 

_ I got that scar on my neck because of it. It’s more of a souvenir for me rather than a regret. _

The next morning, in the window seat of a packed plane. Sniper stared blankly at the passing blue sky, trying to forget about the empty seat next to him. He absentmindedly rubbed at his neck, where only a red mark was left after respawn churned him through.

_ I remember flying out for holiday leave the next morning, trying to figure out how I was going to explain to my parents that you weren’t going to be coming back home with me again.  _

In Scout’s bedroom, late at night. November 1968. Sniper stood at the window, the one he had once used as a gateway to his love, now just using it to see if the lights were on yet at the RED base. He buttoned up his shirt halfway, before loosely pulling on his jacket. Scout watched him from his bed in the corner of the room, the sweat still shining in his hair and on his face. 

_ The hookups after we broke up were the worst part. I wanted to give you the world, but the world wanted me to keep my distance. _

Sniper was halfway out the door, giving a half-minded goodbye glance before stopping in his tracks when his eyes met Scout’s. He walked back over to Scout with a heavy heart.

_ It was the closest thing to what we had before. Yet it ached, more than I could ever have imagined. _

Sniper titled Scout’s head up lightly by his chin, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. ‘Jer, I think this is the last time we’re doing this.’

‘Just call me Scout from now on, then.’

_ It was for the best when even that part ended. _

Late 1969, Sniper sitting alone on his van’s couch. The countdown on his wrist was ticking away quietly, while his mind was somewhere else entirely. He looked out the open window, blankly watching the smoke from his cigarette rise into the starry night. 

_ I can remember you being on the forefront of my mind during those three days we thought were our last. Too nervous to do anything, even to speak to you, while you chased love with someone clearly unattainable.  _

And now, October 1973. The current moment, in a bunker buried hundreds of feet below ground.

“So, to answer your question, yes, I do remember everything.”

Scout, now in front of him, made a sort of unsatisfied face. Somewhere between confusion and heartache. “If you remember all of it, and how much it hurt in the end, why are you here?”

Sniper had started out his mental and verbal recount of their past with strong resonance. The past seven years, two of love, and five of loss, had flown back so vivdly. Not that he had forgotten them, but more that he had buried them away in moving on. Yet now Sniper’s voice began to quiver, almost hoarse in his emotion. “It tears me up to see you like this.” he started, actively trying to swallow the pain, to bury it once again. “I won’t force you to open up. But I can’t play this game of back-and-forth with you anymore. I don’t know what you’re going through, I don’t know what you need, but I’m here for you—only if you want me to be.”

Scout’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to make a decision?” he asked, now back on the offensive.

“Yes.”

“I-I don’t know. I need time to think,” Scout stuttered, his body language falling back to show an empty sort of torn apart once again. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It seemed like Scout had been wearing it for the past week. Sniper also couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. He wondered how much sleep Scout had been getting, if he had slept at all.

Sniper pulled his head out of the clouds, and his tone of courage returned for his response. “I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

Scout breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay.” 

Sniper stood up. “Let’s get you to bed now, alright? And some fresh clothes, too.”

Scout folded his arms, looking down for a moment in thought before looking up to return Sniper’s gaze. “Alright.”

A step forward in the right direction. At least Sniper could hope it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have spent almost a year developing this scene. it is los alamos, the way we got here, kept secret for so long. 
> 
> part of my heart is heavy at posting this. not because i dislike this chapter, no, i kind of love it. moreso that finally, this scene is out for the world to see. i hope you enjoyed the montage of memories, i kept the format as close to the film version as possible. (this would have looked fabulous on-screen by the way. but you didnt hear that from me) 
> 
> back to my original point! i think the melancholy of posting chapters will only continue as the story progresses, i have been running these scenes and plotlines through my head for ages now.
> 
> yet it brings me so much warmth to tell you this story, and i can't wait for you to see how it develops.


	7. Subcritcal Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big s/o to holomeds for looking over this! heard she's putting out a new chapter of her fic lettered escape soon... keep an eye out for that!
> 
> tw: minor mention of animal violence

Engineer softly strummed his guitar as he sang, filling the once-quiet common area with music. Around him, a few of the mercenaries had pulled up chairs to sit and listen. Between songs, the men chattered amongst each other, smiling and laughing. It was reminiscent of only a few years ago, those moments of loud peace that brought the team together. Oh, how far they had fallen.

Next to him, Spy groaned. “How about something other than country, please?”

“Do you remember this?” He started to play a simple, but familiar tune. Soon, his voice followed. Engineer managed to sing the best he could, but the French lyrics were pulled loose with his southern accent and unsteady memory.

_ “Alouette, gentille alouette _

_ Alouette, je te plumerai” _

“I do.” Spy looked away from Engie, visibly unnerved by the tune. Spy turned his attention across the floor to Scout, who was digging through the fridge. 

_ “Je te plumerai la tête _

_ Je te plumerai la tête _

_ Et la tête, et la tête _

_ Alouette, Alouette _

_ Oh, oh, oh, oh” _

Scout stopped for a moment, before perking up. Beers and sodas in hand, he strolled over to the group. He joined the Engineer for the next verse, singing along. 

_ “Alouette, gentille alouette _

_ Alouette, je te plumerai” _

“So we’ve resorted to playing nursery rhymes?” Scout asked playfully, as he handed out the drinks. 

“Spy over here wanted something other than the blues, and this was the best I could do. How’d you know the tune?”

Scout stopped for a moment, and his expression fell, standing on the line between wistful and morose. “My pa’ used to sing it to me when I was little.”

Engineer shot a knowing glare at Spy, before returning his focus to Scout. “Hm. Must be a nice memory. My father only ever sang war tunes,” he laughed, smiling at the memory.

Scout shrugged. “Well, this one’s about killing a bird, so I think it’s close enough.”

A violent lullaby to remember your childhood by. Engineer found it kind of funny. But he had read Scout’s file, and knowing what his life was before the Gravel War made it twice as depressing.

The group returned to their little clusters of conversation, and the Engineer observed with curiosity as Scout sat down in the empty chair next to Sniper. 

The interaction between the two played out tragically, at least from the Engineer's point of view. Sniper seemed to say something, maybe a question, but Scout only replied with a negative shake of his head. Engineer watched as Sniper raised his arm closest to Scout, as if he was about to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, or maybe to put an arm around him, but instead dropping it. The two of them sat together quietly for a few minutes, Scout slowly sipping from his can of soda, until he suddenly got up and left without a goodbye. Sniper adjusted himself in his seat, turning his head to watch Scout as he walked away. Engineer could only guess that he was fighting his inner instinct to follow Scout. 

A while later, the group began to dwindle, as the Engineer had stopped his entertainment for the night. Eventually, only he and Sniper were left. Sniper switched seats, now sitting where Spy had previously been. 

“I’ve got a question for you. About the whole Spy thing.”

Engineer leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead.”

“What the hell is our plan for this?”

“‘Our’ plan?” Engineer scoffed. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I think it does, and I think Spy’s truth has something to do with what’s been going on with Scout.” Sniper ran an idle hand through his hair, and quieted his voice. “Look. Whatever it is, I just want to make it hurt less for him.”

“Slim, you’re young. You’ve got all of these notions, about what love and life has got to look like. It’s not as simple and straightforward as it is in your head, although it’d be easier if it were.” Engineer would have stopped himself there, but he felt an icy type of pity for him, and chose to explain further. “There are certain things you don’t know—things Scout might not ever find the words to tell you. Even if you did know, you couldn’t begin to understand it. There’s a lot more to him than you’d think, and this especially is something you just wouldn’t get. You had a family, with a mother and a father that loved you unconditionally, even if they weren’t your parents by blood. Some of us didn’t have that, and never will.”

Sniper didn’t reply. 

Engineer sighed. He didn’t want to alienate Sniper, but his involvement was just not necessary. “I appreciate your concern, but stay out of it.”

* * * * *

Scout sat on his bed, legs hanging off the side. He could see some of the common area and most of the kitchen from his top bunk. The bunker’s open floor plan was optimal to scan the area to see who was where, or more so if the coast was clear. Once he was sure it was just him and Sniper in the bunks, he quietly hopped off the bunk, and sat down on Sniper’s bed. 

Sniper was reading one of those cheesy romance novels Heavy had brought with him, and was engrossed enough in it not to notice Scout. 

“Michael Arthur Mundy.” 

Sniper immediately snapped his head up to see who called his name. “Huh?” At the sight of Scout, he let out a relieved breath. “Crikey, you scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that.”

To be fair, Scout took a little pride in messing with Sniper. He had bigger priorities though, and this wasn’t a time for jokes. “Can I talk to you?”

“You could have just said that,” Sniper grumbled, closing his book. “What’s up?” He smiled, so subtly but so genuinely that for a moment Scout’s nervousness faded.

Yet soon enough, his fears filled him once again. Scout fidgeted with his sleeve as he spoke, unable to maintain eye contact. “When we were together, you told me your full name. Michael Arthur Mundy.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You only know my first name.” 

“That’s correct.” There was a pause between them, as Scout tried to find a way to phrase his next words just right. Sniper was more intuitive than he had predicted, and seemed to understand what he was getting at. “Scout, look at me.” Scout forced himself to meet Sniper’s gaze. “Are you sure you want to tell me this?”

Scout nodded. 

“This is sudden, even for you. Just two days ago you were asking me to bugger off.” Sniper tilted his head to the side. “What changed so fast? Why do you want to tell me this now?”

“I can’t answer that.” Scout sighed. He paused for a moment, as his mood swiftly shifted from cautious to frustrated. “Screw it—My full name is Jeremy Jacques Delacroix. There.” Scout took the next moment to revel in the feeling of the weight of his words being lifted off his weak shoulders, as well as to anticipate the other’s response. 

“Jeremy Jacques Delacroix,” Sniper said to himself, musing the name. He seemed to have given up on getting answers from Scout, at least for the moment. That made things easier. “Delacroix _ … _ I like it. Suits you.” 

Scout felt something in his chest stir, that former pain and its subsequent relief being replaced by something warmer. “Say that again.”

“Suits you?”

“No, my last name.”

“Delacroix,” Sniper repeated. He frowned, appearing worried. “What? Did I say it wrong?

Scout tried to hide a smile behind his hand. “Nothin’. Just been so long since someone’s said my name.”

Sniper was smiling again, some newfound confidence or hope shining through. “Would it make you feel better if I called you by your name?”

The long answer was yes, that it made Scout feel some sort of normalcy in the boiling guilt that was burning him alive. It meant someone cared about him, especially someone he had once loved with his entire being. Even if Sniper’s intentions were blurred, and even though as hard as Scout tried, he just couldn’t put together why Sniper was so willing to be here for him. Only for him, that was. Scout opted for the short answer. “I think I’d like that.”

* * * * *

By the blast doors, Spy and Engineer got their things together to embark on their ‘mission.’ To the right of the doors was the Engineer, surrounded by most of the team. On the left was Spy, standing alone. 

Leaving the group on the right, Scout approached Spy. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his head was held low. “Hey, before you go, I was wondering if you could give me some advice since you’re, well, good at that. I'd usually ask Engie about stuff like this, but he's been kinda’ cold to me lately.” Scout’s request in it’s entirety was intriguing, but the last sentence piqued Spy’s interest. He saved it in his memory to make more sense of later.

For the moment, he had a more pressing matter to address . Spy stopped what he was doing, placing his things on the ground. “This is an odd time. I assume it is about the bushman, yes?”

Scout looked over his shoulder, checking to see if Sniper was out of earshot. “...Yeah.”

Spy crossed his arms. Scout and Sniper’s situation was all sorts of unfortunate, it always had been, but Spy felt like Scout could turn things for the better. If it were what Scout wanted, that was. “I know he’s given you an ultimatum. Listen, if you want him around, just let him in. If you want him gone, tell him. I doubt he will bother you after that.”

“What do you think I should do?” 

Spy pondered this for a moment. He had his fair share of qualms with Sniper, such as a certain bruised spot on the top of his head, but Sniper’s actions had been out of his care for Scout. Spy had to admit that was admirable, in a way. If he were Scout, he’d probably choose to give Sniper a chance. In the end, Spy and Scout were very different people, and personal gripes aside, this wasn’t Spy’s choice. “Scout, deep down, you have already made your decision. Go with your gut instinct, as they say.”

Scout nodded, visibly unsatisfied by the answer. That would be an issue for another day, Spy decided.

The conversation was put on hold for a moment, and a natural silence fell in between the two. With a quick glance Spy noticed that the Engineer was all set to go, so he resumed his previous task of getting ready.

Spy pulled the duffel bag over his shoulder. Noting the moment, he figured he should share one more piece of advice that he felt might be useful. “And Scout, please keep a watch on your moods and impulses. Don’t let them overwhelm you again.” 

Scout raised an eyebrow in response, and Spy quickly realized his mistake. He kept forgetting his web of lies, or at least what Scout wasn’t supposed to have a clue that he knew. Scout seemed willing to ignore the mix-up, or at least not to question it. He as well had more pressing matters to address. “Y’know, don’t die up there. Ma’ will haunt me for the rest of my life if you do.” So Scout was doing alright with the fact that his mother was most likely dead. Spy could not decide if that was a step of progress for Scout’s mental state, but only time would tell. 

Spy patted Scout on the shoulder. “It is unlikely I could die on this mission, you are worrying too much. And if I somehow do, so sorry, but I will haunt you as well.”

Scout rolled his eyes at Spy’s remark. “Well, you better say ‘hi’ to her for me then.” 

The two of them laughed for a moment, before returning to the main crowd. The rest of the team backed away from the lower blast doors as the Engineer put in the key to open them. Spy followed Engineer through the doorway, avoiding the fallen pieces of metal and broken tile from the detonations weeks ago. He glanced back to see Scout, who now stood alone. The rest of the group had since left, having said their well-wishes and goodbyes already. Spy saluted Scout, briefly ignoring the nagging fear of others seeing.

  
  


He stared at Spy with his eyes wide open for a fleeting instant, before hesitantly returning the gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ my beta readers, or just anyone who i told what happens next. i am so sorry <3


	8. Oppenheimer's Posterity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: some gory/violent aspects, radiation, blood  
> sorry this took longer than expected, midterms are fucking me over rn  
> thank u to the one and only @holomeds for taking a look at this, as always

The grinding sound of metal-on-metal stopped as the doors closed, sealing off the bunker. Engineer turned his flashlight on, shining it on the disfigured stairway in front of them. The stairs were mangled from the detonations, yet they were climbable, and that was all they really needed to be. 

Engineer clicked on his Geiger counter, shining his flashlight on the dial. Relatively low, at least for where they were. The two of them started their climb in silence, climbing over debris and clearing out what they could. As they slowly made their way to the upper blast doors, the Engineer would check the counter every so often, watching the reading slowly rise. 

* * * * * 

“How’s your hand feeling?”

Scout shrugged. “Eh. Could be better, but it’s not terrible.” 

Sniper sat a few feet away in the desk chair, watching as Medic began to unwrap Scout’s grip tape, taking care not to pull it off too roughly. The doctor had made it a habit to run a check up on the ‘injured’ teammates every few days, namely Sniper and Scout.

Medic began to stretch Scout’s right hand. Sighing, he started to ramble. “I don’t understand why she would send Spy up with the Engineer. It is going to end badly.”

Scout winced as Medic began to stretch his wrist. “What’s that about?”

“Do you know about their drama, or am I overstepping another line nobody is telling me about?” 

“Well, Engie told me that way back before our Gravel War, he and Spy had a thing going, and then Spy left for a mission and came back with news of a wife,” Scout answered.

That was a bit different than what Sniper knew of it. He figured he should chime in. “Oh. Spy told me that Dell only liked him for the… physical aspects of their relationship. So Spy broke things off, and later found himself a suitable lady on a mission.”

Scout glanced over at Sniper, confused. “Wait. You and Spy talked about that kind of stuff?”

“I mean, when it came to things other than you, we used to get along pretty well. There was about a month between signing my contract and the start of the war where RED was stuck on-base, so I got to know him pretty well before I got to know you.”  _ Things other than you. _ Sniper bit his tongue. He shouldn’t have included that part. 

Scout returned his attention to his hand, which was now being re-wrapped by Medic. “Hmm. Odd.” 

“Neither of those stories are fully true, by the way,” the doctor chimed in. “Engineer and Spy did have a fling. Dell had terrible commitment issues, but he did love Spy for who he was. He did not show it, though, and Spy accused him of not caring about their relationship the night before he left for a mission. When Jacques—” Medic glanced at Scout’s face “—Spy, I mean, came back six months later, he was engaged to the woman he was supposed to kill.”

“So who was in the wrong?” Sniper queried.

“Neither of them. They were young, and quite frankly, very stupid. Dell should have been upfront with his feelings, or at least considered his own problems before jumping into whatever they had—they never were explicitly ‘together,’ by the way—and Spy should have at least called to say he had found someone else, instead of just dumping an entire new second life on Dell the minute he got back,” Medic explained, stress audible. He finished wrapping Scout’s hand.

Scout examined his hand for a moment, before asking a question of his own. “How old were they, when Spy came back from that mission with a wife and a kid on the way?” 

Medic stopped for a moment, appearing to do the math in his head. “I think the Engineer was twenty-three, and the Spy was twenty-one.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

Scout stepped away quickly to grab his sweater, having previously left it on the desk. “No reason.” He replied, quick to exit Medic’s office.

At the click of the door closing behind Scout, Medic turned to Sniper. “What is up with him?”

Sniper blinked. “You think I know?”

* * * * *

“Miss P, we’ve arrived safely. Base is destroyed, except for the garage. It’s raining out here, and I do think it’s the irradiated rain Demo and the doc’ were talking about.” He looked a little closer at the puddles on the ground, out past the roof overhang that was shielding him from the weather. “It’s this dark, greyish-black color.”

“Try to stay out of it. Glad to hear the two of you made it up there without a struggle. Now, how does that air filter look?” Pauling’s voice echoed over the intercom.

Engineer unscrewed the covering of the filter system, and placed it to the side. “Well, it looks here like the explosions completely mangled the filter itself. I’ll put in the replacement, when I get this darn thing out.”

“Could have been better. Transmit back when you’ve got it fixed. Over and out.” Engineer turned off the device, tossing it to the side.

A few minutes later, Spy returned to where the Engineer was working. “I took a look at the base and our surroundings. There is no sign of anyone, or anything living here. You were right about your theory, the garage being intact did mean it was less irradiated. Sniper will be happy to hear about his van, I’m sure.” He leaned against the wall, looking out at the rainy horizon. “I checked the doctor’s room. His medi-gun was in one of his suitcases, no wonder Scout did not find it. It is completely destroyed.”

“You lose some, you win some. It’s too bad though, I was hoping to salvage the thing.” Engineer took out his pliers, and started to pull the filter out. “Speaking of Scout, you used to sing that song to him?”

“I suppose I did at one point.” Spy inattentively flipped his knife open and closed as he spoke. “It's a French Canadian tune, so I figured it would be more relevant for a child living in North America than a regular French lullaby.”

“I remember when I learned that song, to play it for you when we were at the old base. Probably around thirty years ago now.”

“I recall. We were good friends back then, me and you. Long before the Gravel War.”

“I loved it. The shenanigans between contracts, and the fun of working in a pair. Those were the good days.” Engineer smiled, feeling warm from the memory. His mind trailed elsewhere, to the painful reality of what happened. “At least before Boston.”

“...I suppose.” Spy paused for a moment after. “I do also remember we spent a lot of time avoiding your father back then.”

Engineer chuckled. “Ah, fathers. How’s the whole father thing been working out for you?”

Spy closed his knife firmly, the loud ‘click’ of it audibly clear. “I’d rather not speak of it.”

“You should tell him.” Engineer put his tools down, turning his focus fully on the other man.

“Stay out of it.”

The Engineer stood up; it looked like a friendly chat would not get results. “I thought I knew you. I thought you were better than this. It’s the end of the world, and your first instinct is to hide the truth from him? He’s old enough, wise enough, and he deserves to know damn well who his father is.”

“I know you,” Spy muttered. He glanced at the Engineer for a moment, then continued to look at the horizon. A flash of lightning illuminated Spy’s face, followed by the loud roar of thunder. The rain began to pour. “This is not about Jeremy at all.”

The Engineer took a step towards Spy. “How come it’s you who gets to have a kid and abandon him, while men like me who want nothing more than to be fathers get to live their lives alone?” Spy was right in that this argument wasn’t about Scout. But Engineer would be damned if he let this conversation carry on to the truth. He wasn’t yet ready to admit to himself the real reason he was so invested in this.

Spy turned to face the other man, contemptful with his response. “Maybe it would be best for you to mind your own business. This is my problem, not yours.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Engineer took another step, his shoulders squared. 

Spy stood his ground. “Calm down. I am just being polite,” he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

The Engineer stared blankly for a moment, trying to collect his rage, but he was unsuccessful. He took a deep breath in, and tackled Spy hard, shoving him to the ground. “You backstabbing, filthy, lying snake of a man!” he shouted, his obvious anger now pouring over.

Spy pushed back, but he held on, rolling them into the heavy rainfall. He struggled against the Engineer's grip, trying to find a way out. 

Spy looked him in the eye and went limp beneath him. “Do you actually care about my son? Do you actually want to be some high and mighty father figure that saves the day? Or are you just upset your father didn’t love you the way you wanted him to, and you’re just living out your savior fantasy through this?” The Engineer kept him pinned to the ground, frozen from Spy’s words. “It’s a real shame, too, because I know you would have been a good father, had you ever been given the chance.”

“Don’t talk about my father, or sit on some high mighty rock to make yourself seem better than me.”

Spy snorted in laughter. “What? Like you are any better? Who has been there for Jeremy this past month? Tell me. Do not be shy.”

Engineer cast his gaze to the side, uncomfortable with the question. “Not you,” he replied quietly.

“Not you either!” Spy laughed. “No, no, it’s his ‘ex-boyfriend’. I’d take you more seriously if you had even given him the time of day.” The mockery in his voice started to leave, followed by stoic seriousness. “Jeremy told me that you’ve turned a cold shoulder on him, and I’ve seen enough to say that his claim is not far-fetched. Who exactly do you think you are, using my son’s pain for your own personal resolution?

Engineer spotted the knife still in Spy’s hand, now open and poised to be used. “Oh, what are you gonna do? Stab me?”

“I might, if you don’t get off of me.”

Engineer tried to wrestle the knife out of Spy’s hand, but gave up after a few seconds. He grabbed Spy’s wrist, and pulled it across Spy’s body thoughtlessly. Spy gasped sharply in pain, and when the Engineer looked down he saw how the knife had torn through Spy’s RAD suit, his clothes, and his torso. 

Engineer dropped Spy’s arm. “Holy lord.” Spy began to bleed profusely, and the black rainwater pouring from the sky started to flow into his wound. He got up and picked Spy up under the shoulders, dragging him out of the rain and sitting him against the wall under the overhang. He put the cover back on the filter, and tossed some bandages over to Spy. “If you’re still awake, take care of yourself for a minute.”

Spy picked up the bandages weakly, and started to wrap and pad his wound. “I hate you,” he croaked out.

“I wish I could say the same for you.” Engineer threw his tools into his bag, and clicked on the intercom. “Francine?”

“Oh, hello, is everything alright?”

“There’s been an accident, Spy’s injured real bad. Get the doctor ready.”

“What? You just got up there-” Miss Pauling’s words were cut short by him turning off the device. Engineer grabbed both of their bags, and lifted Spy, looping one of his arms around his shoulder.

“I have a proposition,” Spy murmured, his breaths becoming shallow.

Engineer pulled them into the garage, closing the door behind them. “You always do. Keep talking, it’ll keep you awake.” A quick glance down, and he saw that Spy was starting to quickly bleed through the bandages. They crossed into the hall and over to the stairwell, starting their descent back down to the bunker.

“I will tell them that this was an innocent accident, that I fell on my knife doing my perimeter check, if you do not tell Jeremy I am his father.” Spy’s voice was raspy in his ear. A sneaking suspicion that this would be it, this would be how Spy died, started to sink into the lowest part of the Engineer’s heart.

“I didn’t do this on purpose,” Engineer contested.

“I know, but you are the reason I am bleeding out. If you tell him my secret, I will expose what is about to become your secret.”

At the landing where the upper blast doors stood, Engineer stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “You strike one hell of a bargain, you know that?” He looked over at Spy, who had taken off his respirator.

“I know.” He was growing pale, but a small smile played on his lips. “I am about to pass out, so you may want to lift me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey so u might have noticed that I changed the total chapters from 10 to ?... in summary I have no clue how many chapters there are going to be. i can assure you that we are getting close to the end, though!


	9. Sievert of Conviction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: radiation sickness, some memory loss and depersonalization stuff

The group was gathered in the ICU once again. This time, Spy was unconscious in the middle bed, the same bed Scout had been sleeping in previously. Machines hummed softly around him as they monitored his vitals. 

Pauling couldn’t help but notice how although Medic had left his mask on, Spy still looked so terribly pale. It was a hopeless sight. If he were awake, he’d tell her to get on with it, to be a ‘professional’ about all this. So she took a deep breath in, and did what she did best. 

“Boys, listen up.” The whole room turned to face her, a familiar sight. “There was an accident on the trip to the surface, and Spy, well,” she motioned to him, “got injured.” She looked to Medic.

He nodded. “I patched up his wound and cleaned him up the best I could. He did lose a lot of blood, but Scout here was a viable donor, thankfully.”

The group glanced back at Scout, who was leaning against the wall beside the door. He raised his hand in response, and a small bandage was visible on the crook of his arm.

Pauling started again. “The filter was not fully fixed, and is now in worse shape due to it being half removed when Engie stopped the repairs to help Spy. I have no clue if it’s gonna kill us, or better yet, when it will. But let me make something clear, before one of you runs out on me again,” she looked at Scout, who huffed in response. “I am going up there in a week to fix it myself. I think I can do this, but we can only hope it goes right.”

Somehow, the room was still hers. “That’s all. You can go now.”

As the mercenaries began to leave, the doctor made a request. “Pauling, Dell, come to my office.” 

Pauling followed Engineer and Medic through the side doors that led to his office. This was an odd occurrence, as he was very peculiar to who could be in his office and exactly when they could be there. In turn, Pauling herself had never gotten the chance to see it.

It was spacious, in a cluttered-but-empty way. His desk sat in the middle, covered in papers and test tubes. As Engineer and Medic chatted about technicalities or something else vaguely uninteresting to her, she looked closer at the notes. Some were signed and written on by Demo, and from what was written, Pauling could tell that they were trying to find an answer of some sort, maybe a solution. She turned her attention away from the desk, eager to not look nosy, and gazed at the rest of the office.

Counters spanned the walls, and above them sat a set of glass cabinets. They held at least twenty empty jars, which she assumed were once for medical fluid. In the corner of the room there were two cots pushed together, covered with a blanket. 

Most interestingly, there was a wall of screens that showed vitals from the ICU beds. 

Intrigued, Pauling watched the central screen, which showed the heart monitor. She thought to herself that it must have been annoying to constantly hear the noise, before vaguely recalling how Scout refused to be hooked up to any machines after he woke up. 

Entranced by the beeping, the rise and the fall of the line, she distantly wondered about Scout. Rumors had been running wild around the bunker, with no real explanation for them. She made a mental note to talk to him soon, and to think about this more later, as the Medic and Engineer’s conversation just got a little more interesting to her.

“How does it look for him?” Engineer asked. 

Medic shrugged. “I have no clue. This was not a thing yet when I went to medical school. There’s no frame of reference. I stopped the bleeding, he is physically fine, but I have no clue how the radiation from that rain is going to affect him. We can only wait and see.” 

Engineer rubbed his face. “Great. Is that all you wanted to tell me?” The doctor nodded, and he went to leave.

“Actually, one more thing. He fell on his knife, right?”

Engineer paused for a moment. “...Yeah.” And then he was out the door, before Medic could ask anything else.

Medic dropped his shoulders, and mumbled something under his breath. He sat down, waving Pauling over to his desk. “Have you figured out who is going with you to the surface?”

Pauling bit the inside of her cheek. “No. I still need time to think.” Lying wasn’t fun for her.

“Ugh.” He reclined in his seat. “Let me know when you decide, I need to approve them first this time. Don’t make it personal again. I know he was a father figure to you so you trusted him, but choosing Spy was a bad idea in the first place. You knew better.”

In retrospect, she could admit that sending Engineer and Spy on a mission together wasn’t the greatest decision, but it still hurt that Medic was undermining her authority. Besides, it wasn’t like the two of them got into a fight or anything, at least as far as she had been told. “Doc, I find it kind and all that you’re trying to take the lead here, but who do you think you are talking to?”

He cocked his head to the side, crossing his arms firmly. “This is my Lower Medbay, is it not?”

* * * * *

Scout stared at himself in the mirror. This was the first time he had even looked in the mirror since he came down there; he couldn’t bear to before. Now he just stood still, eyes fixed on his reflection. A lot of things stood out, but the most unexpected was the little-longer-than-stubble on his face. Last time he checked, he didn’t grow facial hair. Right?

Scout had left the door open, and Sniper stopped in the doorway next to him for a few moments, presumably having had the intention to say ‘hello,’ but was probably taken aback by how still Scout was. “What’re you thinking about?”

Scout scratched at the hair on his cheek. “Oh. I, uh, need a razor.”

Sniper leaned against the door’s frame, a hand on his hip. “Well, there’s some blades under the sink. Did you bring your safety with you?”

“My razor?” 

Sniper narrowed his eyes. “...Yes? You usually shave ‘bout twice a month, at least you used to when we were younger.”

Right. He used to have a safety razor, with this pretty redwood handle. He didn’t recall grabbing it before handing his bag off to Pauling, the morning of the nuclear war. “Oh. I guess I didn’t bring it down with me,” he said, trying to keep his voice cool. 

“That’s alright, you can borrow mine, just swap out the blade.” Sniper left and returned a moment later with his. He chucked his blade into the trash before handing the razor to Scout. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Scout fiddled with the razor and the blade for a minute or so, before remembering how to put the two together. He wet his face with warm water. The hairs were light, barely there under his fingers, but dark enough to be visible.

Soon he was left staring blankly again in the mirror, holding the can of shaving cream in his hand. It had been coming back to him before, but now he was stuck. How exactly did this part go again? He felt like he was missing something. It must have been a while that he stood there motionless, because Sniper noticed.

“You alright?” he asked, standing in the doorway again.

Scout snapped out of it. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He took an educated guess on the next step, applying the cream to his face.

“Mate, do you not remember how to shave?”

Scout stopped. “I remember. Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“Yeah no, I don’t,” he admitted.

Sniper crossed his arms. “Well, for starters, you don’t smooth the hair down. You want to kind of rub it in. This would be easier with a brush, but we don’t have one.” A brush, that was it, he usually used one.

Scout followed his instructions. “Got it.” Scout picked the razor up from the counter, and began to shave with fast strokes, starting at his neck. 

Sniper grabbed his arm, physically stopping him. “No, no, don’t do that.” 

Scout looked at him funny. “What?” He looked back in the mirror. He had nicked his neck a few times. “Oh.”

“Do you want me to just do it for you?”

“You don’t have to.” Scout tried to wipe the blood away with his fingers. Obviously not serious, but the cuts were pretty bad. He started again, a bit slower this time. Another cut. This wasn’t working the way he hoped, and was not worth saving his pride. “Yeah, okay, go ahead.” He let Sniper take the razor out of his hand. 

Sniper turned Scout by his shoulders to face him. Softly, he held Scout’s jaw in his fingers, just barely shaking. He looked at him nervously, almost as if he was afraid to break him. “Is this okay?” 

Scout felt on-edge with how worried Sniper was. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

Sniper turned Scout’s face to the side, and started on his sideburns. With light and short strokes, he shaved Scout’s face, taking care to explain what he was doing as he worked. 

It was helpful that Sniper didn’t mention the weird things, he had stopped asking, and nowadays he just did his best to help. Although voice was level, and his demeanor was calm, Scout could tell he was nervous. It was clear that Sniper knew something was gravely wrong, and that it was only getting worse. Scout felt bad, being a bystander to this must be odd for Sniper. If what he had said earlier was true, that meant he was now standing here, reteaching someone how to shave, who he had watched do so countless times. It wasn’t any surprise he had questions before, and Scout couldn’t imagine what questions he must have had now. If he could, he’d give Sniper all the answers he had.

When he was finished, Scout washed his face and went over it with rubbing alcohol, since they were all out of aftershave. He thanked Sniper awkwardly, still unsure about the whole ordeal.

But when Scout looked at his reflection straight on, he didn’t recognize the face looking back at him.

“Well, what do you think?”

Scout ran his hands over his face, feeling out the scars and rough patches. Since when was his skin this damaged? Were those little marks on his nose and cheeks from the war (if so, which war?), or from the explosion? “I look different than I remembered. Older, I think.”

“Definitely not any less suave, I’ll tell you that.”

Scout rolled his eyes. “Smooth. I have a question, though. When did I get this scar?” He pointed at the long slash mark on his chin, a shade or two lighter than his natural skin tone. 

“Hm.” Sniper squinted, looking closer at the scar. “Oh, you’ve had that one for years now. If I recall correctly, that was from the battle at Viaduct.”

“That’s odd.” Scout could distantly remember Viaduct. He recalled getting blown off the point by one of Soldier’s rockets (Solly was on RED by then, right?) and getting slammed face first against one of the boulders nearby. Yet in the many years since, all of the mornings in which he awoke and looked at himself in the mirror, he didn’t notice it. “I never saw it before now.”

Sniper made a face. “Do you think there’s a reason for that?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I look different than I did in my head maybe a month or two ago.” He leaned in closer to the mirror. No, he definitely didn’t have that mark last time he checked. “My mind might’ve been elsewhere. I was Scout back then.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that?” 

“Not really.” 

The truth was that he was Jeremy now, he was Jeremy before the war. He wasn't Scout anymore, that name buried in far-off gravel pits. The name Jeremy should have been buried in the Catholic graveyard back in Boston, between his brother and his best friend. It was his fault they were dead. Yet Jeremy still breathed and blinked, the blue eyes looking back at him. 

Scout began again. “I’ve just been all over the place lately. Confused, that’s it. Probably why my memory’s been so shot.” He took a deep breath in. Sniper seemed antsy next to him, maybe seeming to hang on Scout’s every word. “I mean, I don’t know what I’m living for anymore.” The statement bit at his throat as it came out.

“Well, there’s many things you should live for,” Sniper responded, sounding a little more afraid now, but not shocked.

“No, you don’t get it, you wouldn’t. Nearly every decision I’ve made in my life, everything I’ve ever done, has been for someone else.” Scout tried to stop himself, but it was all coming out now. “It’s not that I want to die, it’s just that I’m out of people to live for.”

“You know, the only person you need to live for is yourself.” 

“Sure.”

“That’s what you think.” Sniper frowned. “C’mon, the people around you care about you infinitely more than for what you do for them.”

“I doubt that.”

“You can doubt it all you want. It’s still true. And listen, I’ll be here for you always, no matter what.”

“Look, I really don’t deserve your attention. You’ll leave when you eventually figure me out.”

“Jeremy,” Sniper let his voice get quiet. He stepped forward, closer, resting a hand on the sink next to Scout, who did not turn to face him. “You know me, you know I’m not a liar. I’m sorry for what I did the other day, asking you to make a choice when you’re not in the right place to.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, trust me.” Scout looked at him in the mirror. “You did what you had to.” It came out sarcastic, aloof. Not what he intended, as his statements were genuine.

“I don’t need you to make a decision, I’ll always look out for you, at least as long as you’re okay with it.”

Scout couldn’t really bring himself to reply in a composed manner. There was something eating him alive, from the bottom of his heart to the very tip of his tear ducts.

He dearly wanted Sniper by his side, through the good days and the bad. But did he deserve Sniper? After everything, the answer was simple: No. It was a direct conflict between his mind and his heart. 

It was called  _ guilt _ , and the worse it got, the more he understood it intimately. 

Sniper said there wasn’t a choice to be made, but in reality Scout was faced with a decision. Tell Sniper to screw off, stave off the pain by removing himself from the situation, or invite Sniper in and revel in one of the few great things left in the world. Instead, he chose to do neither.

A voice called to him from his thoughts. “Look at me.” Scout finally faced Sniper. He must have taken a step closer to Scout when he wasn’t looking, for now their faces were inches apart. “I promise,” Sniper said, just barely louder than a whisper. 

Scout didn’t reply, instead just staring. He forgot what it was like to be that close. Sniper’s eyes were this pale grey, like cigarette ash. They scanned Scout’s face, searching for something, but they gave up. The moment felt good, in a sick way that froze him where he stood, but in a warm way that made him want to stay there forever. Like a fever. 

And less than a minute later, Sniper stepped back, his eyes dropping to the floor in shame, a mumbled apology, before walking out the door.

* * * * *

The base was dark at three in the morning. Pauling stood near the blast doors, already prepared to leave. They were to leave after everyone had fallen asleep, so Medic wouldn’t find out until things were over and done.

Scout walked over from the direction of the Engineer's office with his RAD suit already on, respirator tucked under his arm. He tossed some rolled up blueprints into his bag as he approached, before stopping in front of Sniper and Pyro’s bunk. 

Pyro had left his reading light on, and the way it was turned caused it to cast a soft light on Sniper’s face. Scout tried to capture the sight in his mind, before deciding against it for his own good. 

“Are you ready?” Pauling whispered, likely anxious to get on with their work.

Scout continued to look at Sniper for a moment more, before putting on his respirator. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple things!
> 
> first, it looks like my posting schedule is gonna change (against my will). if you could tell, the chapters are getting a lot longer. sure, i could post an unsteady 1.5k word chapter in a ten-day rotation, but a quality chapter that's 2k-3k words is gonna take me closer to three weeks. now that i've kind of gotten a grip on narrative writing, i'd rather take the time to really flesh out my ideas and make them the best they can be, since i now have more of the skills to than i did when i started posting this fic.
> 
> next! i've made it a habit to reread the rest of what i have done of this fic before i post a new chapter. it makes me laugh. my writing style has changed a LOT since i started this, especially since i was just getting my bearings with narratives when i started. i hope the change hasn't been too drastic for you guys, though. i used to be so nice, i let the audience know that scout lived through his ordeal with the explosion in the same chapter that it happened. this time it was a 20 day wait to see if spy lived. he lived...
> 
> one last thing. how are you guys feeling with this fic so far? if you'd want to and are comfortable to, please let me know in the comments! hearing others' thoughts make my day, and they give me insight on how i can make this story the best it can be.


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